


Arpeggios

by shuofthewind



Category: Uta no Prince-sama
Genre: Christmas Music, F/M, Fluff, Music, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-12
Updated: 2013-09-12
Packaged: 2017-12-26 08:51:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/963990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shuofthewind/pseuds/shuofthewind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four times she thought about kissing Hijirikawa Masato, and the one time she didn't think at all. Co-posted on FFnet. Complete.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Arpeggios

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Uta no Prince-Sama.
> 
> Originally on FFnet.

**Arpeggio  
by Shu of the Wind**

**5.**

She thinks in arpeggios.

One of the first pieces her grandmother had taught her, after _Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star,_ had been the  _Moonlight Sonata._  It's not her favorite piece, and never has been, but somehow when she settles in at the piano, her fingers trembling, her mind is colorless and dark and there is only one note, pounding, over and over again in her head, it is all she can think to play. But she cannot play, and that means she is a failure, and despite everything she is not worthy of being here. All she can do is sit and listen to that one note, thrumming deep in her belly.  _Failure. Failure. Failure._  And her hands tremble and her eyes well with tears.

He cuts through the arpeggio. He leans over her shoulder and plays out the song she has not heard since she sang it in a long-ago park, and somehow it breaks through the arpeggio in her head. She turns to look at him, but his eyes are on the keys. He smells of sandalwood and ink and something beneath both that simply says  _male_  and it makes her the slightest bit uncomfortable. She has sat this close to Ittoki-kun, before, but somehow his presence has never pushed at her the way this boy does, this quiet judge in the back of the classroom who has revealed more of himself to her than she has ever heard from any of her classmates. Ittoki-kun doesn't have a smell that makes her want to bury her face in his neck, and so her stomach squishes up into her lungs to hide. She turns and fixes her eyes on the musical score.

Still, when he tilts his head in a question, she slides over to let him sit beside her. Their knees brush under the piano, and their hands brush on the keys, and Haruka blushes pink and cannot quite meet his eyes, because if this were a romance novel, this would be when the mysterious boy would kiss her, and she does not know if she has the guts to say no.

 

**4.**

She sits in the audience, in one of the best seats, with Shou-kun and Ittoki-kun on either side. They had all promised to come along, to see this play that he worked so hard on, but Jinguuji-san has a sudden photoshoot that he cannot put off, and Shinomiya-san is off filming a commercial, and Ichinose-san has a recording date, and Cecil-san is…doing something, she is not sure what. Their schedules are so different now, and she can only think back to before the Master Class when they were all together and their schedules were so much less hectic, and sigh without letting her friends catch it.

She can see the orchestra pit from here. She has never been to a real play before, not like this one, and in spite of the fact that she did not sleep last night—another song had come to her, easy as breathing, as she had curled up under the covers and stared at the moon—she cannot help but feel excited. Her fingertips almost tingle as she opens the program and traces the name.  _Hijirikawa Masato_. They are all achieving their dreams. She sees it every day, in each of them, how they work so hard.

Shou-kun and Ittoki-kun are arguing about something, playfully, over her head. She does not pay attention. She is watching the curtains, and when the lights go dark, they rise. A flute, eerie and beautiful, echoes out of nowhere, and her fingers itch for a pencil. _For his next song,_ she thinks,  _there will be drums and flutes and a shamisen if I can find it_ , mixed with the modern instruments of Starish, because she cannot imagine his voice matching anything else.

She can see his eyes scanning the theatre seats as he speaks his lines, and even though he is in character and even though he is searching for a dastardly samurai, she rather thinks that his eyes catch hers for a moment, and hold. She rather thinks he relaxes slightly, that he settles deeper into his role, but that could just be her imagination. After all, there is no way he could have seen her, not with the lights burning down on him like that. She laughs, and claps, and cheers for him when the audience does, listens to his voice swell and blossom in this theatre that has awoken him so easily, and she hides tears, because she has never seen him like this before.

It is when he goes down on his knees, this character that he has become, and draws the girl into his arms that his eyes find her again. He sees her, and she sees him, and there is something in his gaze that startles her. He breaks the look a moment later, curling his arms tighter around this girl, hiding his face in her throat. But she cannot stop watching, because something in her _burns_.

They go backstage to congratulate him after the play is over. For a single daring instant, she thinks about going on tiptoe, kissing his cheek, but decides against it. After all, he probably hadn't spotted her at all.

**3.**

She sets down the final eighth note on her new composition and then laces her fingers together, stretching her arms up high over her head. Outside the dormitory, it is raining fit to drown a girl, and the smell of thunder and wet leaves seeps through the cracked-open window. Rain, she has always thought, is a wonderful percussion, and if she could somehow capture it and put it into song, she would give it to him as a gift. Rain and a flute, and the slightest hint of springtime.

They have been here so long she cannot imagine moving out, and yet her things are almost packed. She leaves in two days. Haruka stands and stretches out again, and her back pops. She has been sitting here writing for who knows how long; she has probably missed breakfast again. They are used to it, her boys, but that doesn't mean she feels any less guilty about it. She shrugs on a sweater, and is about to go over her notes again when someone knocks at her door.

"Wait a moment," she says, and then pulls her blankets up over her clean underwear (freshly folded and not something she wants anyone to see) before going to answer the door.

It's Hijirikawa-san. He looks at her curiously, his head tilted just so to the side. "You were not at breakfast," he says, and before she can respond, he offers her a paper bag. Haruka takes it, and peeps inside.  _Anpan_ , red bean buns. They smell sweet, and the dough is sticky against her fingers. They're even still warm. She looks up at him curiously, but he cannot quite meet her eyes. His hair has been getting shaggy. It needs cutting, but it keeps getting pushed under the rug.  _If it goes on like this,_  she thinks, _the fans will start to notice._

"I thought you might be hungry," he says, "since you did not come down."

"Thank you," says Haruka, and smiles. She is not just being polite. She loves  _anpan_ , and she tries to go down to the table early to grab some before Shou-kun and Ichinose-san can claim them all, but she is not always lucky enough to get down in time. The fact that he noticed touches something inside her, bringing a warm candle glow. "I am actually, very hungry." She hesitates, and then looks into the bag again. "Do you want one?"

He shakes his head. "I ate, thank you."

She eyes his hair, and then frowns a bit, and he looks stricken.

"What is it, Nanami-san?"

"Your hair," she tells him, "is bothering me."

His hand goes up to his bangs. He has the pride of an idol, and it's clear she's dinged it a bit. Haruka hesitates again, and then leaves her doorway, heading for her desk. She has made her own clothes and cut her own hair for as long as she can remember, and she has a set of heavy-duty scissors on her desk that has done the job for her since she was twelve. "Come in," she tells him, because he is on the verge of bolting. "And sit down."

"Why?" he asks, and he has not stepped over her threshold. He looks almost scared to. Considering he leapt in here to clean her windows off before she even showed up, she thinks, now is a fine time to be fearful. Haruka spreads a towel on her floor and then shifts the chair onto it, and gives him a smiling look.

"Because," she said, "your hair needs cutting, and I'm good at it."

She's not very good at many things. Music is one. Hair is another. She's wanted to get her hands on Shou-kun's hair since she met him, and Ichinose-san's is a work of art. (She just wants to trim Jinguuji-san's bangs, to be perfectly honest; his hair is lovely but to hide his face like that is a travesty.) She has never quite thought about Hijirikawa-san's hair, because he has always kept it so perfectly, but now it is messy and she wants to fix it, and he is creeping through her door as though he is wary of being bitten. "I can speak to a hairdresser," he says, but he sits in the chair anyway, and Haruka collects a spraybottle she keeps for her plants and begins to mist. She wraps another towel around the back of his neck and he jumps when she touches him.

"You don't have time, do you?" she asks him, and then collects her comb. It is pink and has flowers on it, and she is inexplicably embarrassed by this, but he says nothing; he simply watches her in the mirror of her make-up table as she begins to comb his hair, tucking her scissors into her belt as she works. His hair is like silk, much finer than hers, and she has to fight the urge to run her fingers through it. "It's no trouble, truly. I enjoy this," she adds, because he still doesn't look as if he believes her. "This was always my back-up plan."

He blinks at her, surprised. Haruka combs along the part. It really has been growing, she thinks, when she realizes how much effort he has been putting into hiding it. It's completely uneven, and it's a miracle of mousse and gel that has hid that fact for this long. She longs to put his head in a sink and wash it all out, but that's crossing a line. She thinks. "Hold still," she tells him, and then mists his hair as much as she dares before starting to cut.

He holds absolutely still. He is, she realizes, barely breathing. She isn't sure why—she's good with scissors, and she knows he knows that, considering he's walked in on her sewing any number of times—but as she combs and cuts and combs again, circling him, from left to right and then to the front to tidy his bangs, he barely breathes, barely moves, and he is watching her. She can see his eyes following her in the mirror, and she pretends not to notice. She even hums a little, and she realizes it is the new song she has just finished for him, full of rain and flutes.

"Your back-up plan?" he asks, finally, when she is standing to his right and fiddling with a part that simply won't stay straight. She has forgotten that he can speak. Haruka jumps, and then smiles.

"Yeah. If music didn't work out, I mean." She gives in to temptation, puts her comb between her teeth for a moment, and then brushes her fingertips against his scalp. He goes very stiff and still. "Beauty school is cheaper than music school, after all, no matter how many scholarships I get."

"I see," he says, and he closes his eyes. Haruka mists his hair again, and then fixes the strands that have been defying her.

"Besides, Grandma always said I was pretty good at it." She smiles. "I cut my own hair all the time."

"I see."

She's done. Haruka puts her scissors down, runs the comb through the cut one last time, and is satisfied. There is not a strand out of place. "I'm finished," she says, and he opens his eyes. Haruka puts her hands on his shoulders, squeezing a little as she smiles. "What do you think?"

He turns his head a few times, and his hair sways, even if it's still damp. Then his eyes catch hers. She has not, she realizes, taken her hands off his shoulders. She pulls back, and flushes, and something in his gaze changes. He clears his throat, but his voice is husky.

"It's perfect," he says.

She cannot pull her eyes from his. Haruka tries to laugh, but she cannot. There is something in his gaze that singes her fingers, pricks at her heart, warms her blood. There is something in his gaze that is deep and raw and something she has never seen on him before, not outside of when he sings. It is something, some person, she is not sure she knows. She is suddenly very aware that this boy she writes songs for, this boy whose hair she has just trimmed, is a  _boy_ , and they are alone in her room and her door is almost shut, and he is looking at her as though he wants to kiss her.

Before she can stop them, her traitor eyes find his lips in the mirror. And then she closes them and turns away before he sees, because it's ridiculous. Because this is Hijirikawa-san. This is her friend. This is Hijirikawa Masato, member of Starish, and she does not want to kiss him. She cannot want to. She  _cannot_.

And so she does not.

When she looks at him again, the feeling is gone. He is studying his hair in the mirror. "It's perfect," he says again, and then he stands. "I had better go."

"All right." She watches him walk to the door, and then remembers. "Wait, Hijirikawa-san!" He turns, and she goes to her desk and collects the music and gives it to him.

"I finished it this morning," she says. She cannot quite meet his eyes. "I hope you like it."

"It's yours," he replies. "How could I not?"

**2.**

The concert is almost over. She is waiting backstage, the way she always does and always has. People rush about her, wearing sunglasses and smoking cigarettes and playing with the lights. Haruka stands alone in the corner, waiting, her arms crossed over her chest—it is cold, for April, and her sleeveless dress does not help—and she watches them, her boys, go through the final number.  _Magi Love 2000%._  They were supposed to open with it, but it was a bright idea of Shou-kun's to do  _1000%_ at the start and  _2000%_ at the finish, and she has to say she rather likes it. It is almost as though they are traveling through all the joy and pain again, and standing on this stage in sweat and tears. She cannot stand with them, not in the spotlight, but she is here in the shadows, and she rather thinks that is the best place for her.

This is it. They are idols. Not idols, but Idols, and her heart squeezes at the thought. She smiles. Two years since they left Saotome Academy and they have all grown and changed, but they are all the same at heart. They are all the same and they are all together, even if they are apart now. That, at least, will never change.

She lives separate from them, now. They are together so often that they are almost joined at the hip, but she stands apart. She lives in her own apartment a few blocks from the agency, in the bustle of Shibuya that she has never been able to handle, and she writes, and writes, and writes. Her mind is overflowing with music, and her fingers trip so fast across the keys most nights that she can barely keep up. She has never been so productive, not in all her life. She is not entirely sure why. Cecil-san would call her _muse-blessed,_ but she is not sure she believes in muses. She is just lucky, she supposes.

The concert ends. They all file off, and they are laughing and slapping palms and sweaty as anything, but she still lets Shinomiya-san hug her, because he cries out in joy like a puppy when he sees her and she just cannot help it. She feels Jinguuji-san's fingers on her hip and ignores them, because that is just the way he is, and over Shinomiya-san's shoulder she can see Shou-kun grinning, his hat tipping over his eyes, and Ichinose-san and Hijirikawa-san smiling, and Cecil-san has his hands on her shoulders, and they are all over her the way they always have been. She has missed this, she realizes. "We haven't seen you in weeks," says Shinomiya-san into her collarbone, and she can feel him smiling against her skin. Then he pulls back and releases her, politely. "Where have you been?"

"Writing," says Haruka. "I've been busy. I'm sorry I haven't been around."

"Aw, don't apologize," says Shou-kun, and he takes off his hat and puts it on her head. It's damp inside. "You're working. We get it. Stop worrying, Nanami."

She hides a smile beneath her hair. One of the concert staff comes up to Ichinose-san and says something about an encore, and they all file back out to smile and bow and wave. She is still wearing Shou-kun's hat, but she doesn't think anybody notices, or if they do, they don't know it's on the head of a frumpy little lyrics writer who lingers backstage. She tilts it back from her face and waits for them.

They file past her towards their rooms, slapping her upraised palm. Hijirikawa-san is last, and his palm almost slides against hers, slower than the others, and his fingers trace hers so light she barely feels them. Haruka feels a flush build in her neck, and hides it. She has not seen any of them in a while, but that doesn't mean she hasn't thought about them. His eyes flick up to Shou-kun's hat, but he says nothing about it.

"You're shivering," he says, and his breath brushes against her face. She realizes she is, but she is not quite sure why. She feels quite warm, all of a sudden. He is closer than she thought he was.

"Oh," says Haruka, stupidly, but he has already taken off his jacket, ignoring her protests—"Hijirikawa-san, that's your costume, I can't just take it!"—and put it around her shoulders. It smells like him, sandalwood and ink, and she fights the urge to hide her nose in the collar and breathe. The hair on the back of her neck stands up. His hands are still on the lapels, holding her still, and he studies her face. His eyes widen, ever so slightly, and his lips part. He looks at her as though he has never seen her before, and she cannot think why. She has new earrings, but that is the only change.

She curls deeper into the coat—because it  _is_ warm—and then she realizes that the earrings she is wearing had been his birthday gift, and he looks startled to see them on her. He lifts a hand and brushes them, little feathers dangling from her earlobes, and his fingertips trace against the side of her neck. There is a smile on his face that she has never seen before, unexpectedly tender. Haruka looks up at him and realizes, in that bone-shocking moment, that she wants him. She is not a sixteen-year-old girl anymore. She is nineteen and she knows herself better than she ever has, and she  _wants_  him. She wants to kiss him. She wants him to touch her. She  _wants.-_

She is so gobsmacked by this realization that she barely notices he is leaning in until his lips touch her forehead, right under Shou-kun's hat.

He stops, and then pulls away. He looks flushed and she is not sure if it is because of the strobe lights or because of the kiss. "I apologize," he says. "That was out of line."

He lets go of the coat, and steps away from her. Then he bows, pure Hijirikawa-san, and she still cannot think of a single word to say.

"Stay out of the cold," he says, and then he walks away, and she cannot move.

 

**1.**

It is December, and Starish is on tour. Haruka is not. She scoots around Tokyo with an ease that astonishes even her, because she is not the sort of person who would have ever been able to even visit Tokyo two years ago, let alone be the sort of person to scoot. It is snowing, and the cold is like a mint on her tongue as she shuffles her grocery bags and makes her way through the back streets of Shibuya. It is not a place where many people  _live_ , not in the way that people live in the suburbs of Kasai and Baraki-Nakayama and Urayasu, but thanks to the company she has an apartment that is much too big for her that she almost never has to pay for, because, according to the President, "Starish makes enough money to buy the building." And she is part of Starish even if she is not nearly as visible as the others, and so she gets her apartment basically free of charge, aside from utilities rent and grocery bills.

They will be returning soon, she thinks, and heaves the bag of leeks and fish up so she can set it on the nearest bench. Snow covers the world like frosting, and for once the city is almost quiet. There are people everywhere, but they are muffled, the way the city itself seems to be muffled, and it gives her peace. They always said they meant to come back in December. They have been to Kyoto and Nara and Sapporo and even Okinawa, but they will be returning now, and she will see them soon. Even though she shares with Tomo-chan most days (despite the fact her old roommate actually has an apartment of her own) she still finds herself lonely. Her boys aren't there, and it almost hurts.

She knows what will happen when she sees them, because it always happens. It is clockwork. She will walk into the room they bring to life with their joy, and they will converge on her. Ittoki-kun will grab both hands and spin her around. Jinguuji-san will lean in close, a flower from nowhere, and tuck it behind her ear. If he can get away with it, he will kiss her cheek, but he will not be able to get away with it, because they are all there and they will squawk at his indecency. Shou-kun will see that she is wearing his hat—because she wears his hat quite often now, the one he gave her for being a member of his fan club, just to remember that he exists—and he will grin and put a hand behind his head and say that they have souvenirs for her. Cecil-san will try to kiss her, and they will all pull him back. Ichinose-san will not smile, or react very much at all, but he will reach out and he will touch her, sometimes on the shoulder, sometimes on the back, with tentative fingers, just to make sure that she is there. Shinomiya-san will cuddle her like a puppy. And Hijirikawa-san will stay seated, quietly, but when she drops down onto the couch or the chair or whatever is available after all the others have slathered her with love and affection, he will smile, a smile that he reserves just for her, a secret smile that the others don't see.

She is just who she has always been, she thinks, as she picks up her bags and goes on. She is less apt to fainting in crowds, she supposes, but she has always been this way. Strange and quiet and shy. It is a wonder that they need her as much as they do, that they seem to care for her as much as they do. Their noise and exuberance exhausts her as much as it brings her joy, and sometimes it is all she can do to keep up. She is alone with her music so often now that she has almost forgotten what it is like to be with people, even people as dear to her as Starish.

Haruka tilts her head back and tastes the snow. It is probably not a good idea, considering Tokyo is filthy and anything that falls through its skies can be trusted to be absolutely toxic, but she does it anyway.

There are children playing in the park across from her building, and Christmas carols sweep through the air towards her. They're singing, and it makes her smile behind her scarf. She has never been one to be sick of Christmas carols. But, she realizes, as she fumbles through her bags to get at her purse, it is not all children singing. There is another voice with them, deeper but lighter, and when she looks over someone is sitting on a bench cleared of snow, surrounded by children in heavy coats and earmuffs, and she knows that voice anywhere.

He hasn't seen her. His eyes are closed, and he's just…singing. She wonders why she hadn't been able to pick him out before, and blames her earmuffs and her thoughts. She heaves her bags up into her arms again and moves towards them, hoping her hat will hide her tangerine hair, because there is no greater signal to any of her boys that she is coming than orange. They're singing _Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas_ , and most of the children don't know the words, but they know the tune enough to hum along anyway. Haruka clears her throat, and begins to join. Her voice is hoarse at first, but then it builds, and it is high and clear and startling in the frigid air. "Here we are, as in olden days, happy golden days of yore…"

Hijirikawa-san opens his eyes and looks at her, and high color flares into his cheeks, but he does not stop singing. The kids look around too, and some of them beam, because they recognize her as the piano girl from the fourth floor. Some of the girls flock to her, hold onto her coat, join in.  _Faithful friends who are dear to us gather near to us once more…_

 _Through the years we all will be together_  
If the fates allow  
Hang a shining star upon the highest bough  
And have yourself a merry little Christmas now…

The children continue to sing. Hijirikawa-san stops, extracts himself from the pile with a look of embarrassment, and then crunches towards her through the snow. Before she can stop him he has taken some of her groceries, and their fingers touch. It sends a spiral of warmth through her blood. "I didn't know you were back," she says, and she's a bit breathless, but it's not from singing.

"I had a meeting with the president, so I flew back early. The others will be here tomorrow." He looks at her curiously, and then at her bags, and something in his head clicks. "I apologize for bothering you while you were shopping, I didn't realize—"

"It's fine," says Haruka. She looks down at the children. There are three or four of them pulling at her coat, and one tugging at Hijirikawa-san's scarf. Most of them aren't older than six, children who are alone all day because their parents work long hours, and she spends more time with them than she should, but they make her happy and take away some of the loneliness. "Please don't worry about it. I just need to put these away and then I'm done for the day. I was thinking about writing, but I haven't thought of a new song yet, so that might not work out the way I want it to." She smiles. "How was the tour?"

"Long," he says. "And loud. But at least it's over," he adds, with the fervent, thankful voice of someone who does not like people very much. "We'll have another one next year, but for now it's just Tokyo shows when we can manage them."

"That's wonderful! They want you to come back next year? That's _wonderful_!" she says again, and she thinks about hugging him but that is too bold. The thought makes her flush.

He studies her for a moment or two, and then he blinks. "Right," he says, and then he peels off his gloves and goes through his pocket for a moment. "I…this is for you."

Haruka blinks. Then she looks down at his hand, which has closed into a loose fist, and sets down her bags. It is only when she has cupped both hands together and held them out that he releases whatever he has, and it settles in her palms, warm from the heat of his coat. It's a tiny sparrow, made of twisted wire; its eyes are made with blue beads. There is a loop on its back, to hang a chain through if she wants, and it's  _beautiful_. She blinks up at him, surprised, and he looks out into the park again.

"I found it in Kyoto," he says.

"It's gorgeous," she tells him, and she means it honestly.

She takes off her gloves and unhooks her grandmother's chain from around her throat, stringing the sparrow on. She has been looking for a charm for this necklace, and she believes she has found it. Hijirikawa-san keeps his eyes on the snow-covered playground, on the children laughing and throwing snowballs, until she is done, and then he says, abruptly, "I first saw you in a park."

Haruka blinks at him, and then plays havoc with her memories. She cannot remember ever seeing him before the first day at Saotome Academy, and she is not sure if he has mixed something up. But then he licks his lips and adds, "I was…wandering. You were in a park, and you were singing. Conducting them," he adds, and gestures towards the crowd around them. "Children. It reminded me of things I'd forgotten."

She licks her lips. "Like what?"

"That music brings joy," he says, and then he turns and looks at her, so serious. "That music  _is_ joy. You taught me to hope, Nanami-san. You brought me music. I've never forgotten that."

Something inside her is bubbling. For a moment, she unlives three years, and suddenly she is sitting at a piano with a gruff, quiet boy sitting beside her playing out  _Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star_ , and wondering if he is going to kiss her. Then she blasts back into reality to find him watching her, through his curtain of hair, not quite meeting her eyes.

"I apologize," he says, and withdraws. "I've offended you."

"No." She shakes her head and her hair whips her in the face. "No, Hijirikawa-san, that's not true. I was just thinking—" Her tongue stumbles over the words. "If—You were the one who brought  _me_ music again, Hijirikawa-san. Not the other way around. Back at the Academy. You helped me when no one else could and I can  _never_ forget that, not ever."

He blinks at her, his eyes wide, and then he smiles. It is the tender smile she has not seen in months, the smile she has only ever seen once or twice, and she cannot stand it anymore. Haruka does not think. She goes up on tiptoe and puts her hands on his shoulders and then she is kissing him, and he is stiff as a board beneath her hands. His mouth is warm, and he tastes of coffee. She can hear the children squealing, but she does not care. Haruka rocks onto her heels again, and stares at the snowy street, because she can't meet his eyes anymore.  _Oh, God_ , she thinks,  _I'm done for_. She goes for her bags. "I'm sorry," she says, "I'm sorry, I should go—"

"Nanami-san."

"I'm  _sorry_ ," she says again, and she is halfway across the road when she hears the snow crunch and feels a hand around her wrist and someone says " _Haruka_."

He has never called her by her first name. Haruka nearly drops her bags. A thumb presses against her cheek, and it is only then that she realizes she is crying. "Haruka," he says again, and he looks shocked at his own daring, but he leans forward and his forehead touches hers. He is so very close. "Haruka."

This time she does drop her bags. Haruka reaches up and tucks her hands into the lapels of his coat, closing her eyes. She is still crying. He wipes the tears away, with his fingers at first, and then she feels his mouth, light and sweet, on her forehead, her nose, her eyelids. He cannot stop saying her name. They are embarrassing themselves, in front of all of these children, but she cannot stop herself. She opens her eyes and looks at him, and then his mouth slants down over hers, and there is nothing left to think about.


End file.
